


What Does it Say About Us that We Sleep on Complimentary Sides of the Bed?

by KingTyrell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1, But almost entirely fluff, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Not So Platonic Bed Sharing, Platonic bed sharing, brief angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingTyrell/pseuds/KingTyrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, five times Sherlock and John woke up together and one time they didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

1\. 

John awoke on the sofa with his head in Sherlock’s lap, Sherlock’s hand stroking gently through his hair, and absolutely no idea how he had gotten there. It had been a long case stretching on for days with no solution in sight. John had only managed a few hours of sleep here and there and he doubted that Sherlock had slept at all. Getting back to 221B was a blur and John, for the life of him, could not recall how he ended here exactly with his head in his flatmate’s lap though he had to admit the stroking was nice. John turned his head slightly to look up at Sherlock, and the look of raw, undisguised affection on Sherlock’s face took John’s breath away. He was used to seeing Sherlock happy about a case or pleased with himself over an experiment well done. He was even used to the way that he, himself, could make Sherlock smile whether with a well timed piece of praise or jokes over post-case takeout. This, however, this was utterly new. John had never before seen this sort of fondness on Sherlock’s face especially not mixed with such peace and contentment. It was short lived, however, and as soon as Sherlock noticed him looking, his expression blanked and his hand stilled and he murmured something that might have been an apology. John, who was, at best, half awake, settled back down onto Sherlock’s, now tense, thighs.  
“Don’t stop” John grumbled. And when the stroking did not resume “Sherlock, please.” John heard a sharp intake of breath, but he felt Sherlock’s hand return to his hair, and Sherlock’s gentle touch lured him off to sleep. 

When John awoke again it was morning, and Sherlock’s hand lay flat across his face. John removed it and sat up slowly. Sherlock was asleep head lolling against the back of the sofa in a way that would inevitably mean he would be whinging about a sore neck for days. John contemplated for a minute just carrying him, but decided his shoulder was not up to the task, so he slung an arm around Sherlock’s back and pulled him to his feet. Sherlock, who had barely woken up, made a grumbling noise of protest and let his head fall onto of John’s as John maneuvered him to his bedroom. It took some effort, and at least one close call in which they both nearly fell, but John laid Sherlock down on his bed. Sherlock was still fully dressed from the previous day, and John didn’t think it was necessarily a good idea to let him sleep in one of his overpriced suits, but there was nothing for it, and besides, John wasn’t sure what Sherlock wore under those suits (if anything), and did not think Sherlock would appreciate waking up to find that someone had undressed him. Instead, John removed Sherlock’s shoes and pulled a blanket over him. Sherlock looked so peaceful sleeping there, it made John’s heart swell with love. Hardly realizing he was doing it, John leant down and smoothed back Sherlock’s fringe to place a light kiss on his forehead. He stood up quickly somewhat taken aback by his own nerve, and left the room quietly to go about his morning routine. 

It was early afternoon when John started hearing the signs that Sherlock had woken up. John could easily imagine him shuffling blearily around his room. Sherlock was never alert for at least an hour after he had woken up; it was part of the reason he hated sleeping on cases so much. The shower clicked on, and John smiled and returned to his book. Not ten minutes later, the bathroom door burst open, and Sherlock, soaking wet, and naked as the day he was born, burst into the room. His eyes immediately locked on to John sitting calmly in his own chair. John regarded him calmly careful not to break eye contact. This was hardly the first time he’d seen his flatmate naked, after all, pants were optional to a man who had no qualms about sitting in Buckingham palace wearing only a bed sheet, so John wasn’t fazed by Sherlock’s nudity. Sherlock’s wide eyed stare continued on for several long moments passed acceptably uncomfortable.  
“You left the shower on” John said finally. “You’ll run out of hot water pretty soon.” This seemed to jolt Sherlock out of his trance and he gave a brisk nod and then disappeared back into the bathroom leaving a trail of water as he went.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Sherlock awoke to the pounding in his head. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, he tried to reach up to massage his temples, but quickly realised that his hands were tied. His eyes flew open, and the reintroduction of light made his head throb. He groaned at the pain and was answered by another groan.  
“John?” he called.  
“Yes, Sherlock, I’m here.” Was the reply “God, my head hurts. They really got the drop on us didn’t they?”  
Sherlock didn’t respond, but flopped over onto his back - ignoring the strain in his shoulders from the weight added to the awkward position - then rolled onto his other side to face John who was on his side grimacing in pain. If this was uncomfortable to Sherlock’s unmarred shoulders, it must be hell for John who still occasionally had stiffness where he’d been shot. Sherlock made a mental note to keep an eye on John’s shoulder for the next couple of days, and not to put any of the dishware that John used in the upper cabinets where he’d have to reach for it. Sherlock wriggled slowly towards John until they were face to face and he could feel John’s breath on every exhale.  
“What the hell are you doing?” John asked.  
“I keep a pocket knife in my right pocket and these idiots didn’t think to check.” Sherlock said.  
John let out a delighted laugh that made Sherlock’s chest feel warm, but he repressed it - better to focus on the task at hand. “Since I can’t possibly reach it with my hands like this, I need you to get it for me.  
“Alright” John nodded colouring slightly as he always did when Sherlock asked him to retrieve something from one of his pockets, but nonetheless rolled onto his other side so that his hands were facing Sherlock. Sherlock shuffled forward again so that they were nearly back to front and shifted his weight so that John would have the easiest access to his pocket. It took a bit of fumbling, but soon the knife fell to the ground and Sherlock was able to work it open and cut through the zip tie that held John wrists bound together. John immediately set to work freeing Sherlock arms. Once that was done, John reached up and massaged his shoulder and Sherlock winced sympathetically.  
The room in which John and Sherlock were held was clearly just a basement below someone’s flat. It was child’s play for Sherlock to pick the lock on the door and let them both into the house proper. When Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, he too one look around and burst out laughing.  
“What? What’s going on?” John asked, stepping up beside him. Still laughing, Sherlock just gestured at the house around them. It took a moment, as it always did, for John to catch up, but when he did, he burst out laughing as well.  
“Did they really?” he gasped “Did they really take us to their house. Jesus, I think we’ve officially found the most inept criminals ever. I can’t wait to write this one up for the blog.” Sherlock stared at John for a long minute: utterly spellbound by his giggling laugh and the ways his eyes crinkled in pure joy. He shook it off there was plenty of time for that later. For now, there was a case to wrap up.  
“I’ll send a text to Lestrade.” He said “I know where they’re going, so it should be easy to follow them.” He swept out the door, but not too quickly to not hear John’s  
“I bet it will”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's such a short chapter. I've never been a particularly long winded kind of writer so it's likely this story will be pretty short. Ah well, just means that I'm all the more likely to finish it. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

3. 

John awoke to an overwhelming sense of contentedness. The bed was warm, the mattress was comfortable, and the pillow was soft. He couldn’t help but feel like everything was right with the world for once. And Sherlock, well Sherlock was lying right next to him snoring softly looking so soft and innocent in sleep that it made John’s heart feel like it was going to burst. Sherlock snuffled quietly and shifted closer to him. John leaned back and smiled. The case had taken a turn for the unexpected: the men who had kidnapped them had not gone to the place Sherlock had expected (he had insisted that he hadn’t gotten it wrong, they were planning on going to Heathrow, but had changed their minds last minute), so John and Sherlock had had to turn around and head towards Euston station. They had encountered bad traffic about a kilometre away, so John had thrown some bills at the cabbie and they had run the rest of the way only catching their kidnappers moments before they got on the train. John had made a joke about it being like something from a rom com and they both had laughed and embellished on the idea the entire walk back to 221B.

When they had gotten upstairs Sherlock had said something that had set John off laughing all over again. When he’d opened his eyes, Sherlock was staring at him with that same naked affection that John had seen that one morning on the sofa, and suddenly John could bear the distance between them and leant forward to kiss him. After a moment of shocked inaction, in which John wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole, Sherlock responded eagerly. They had stumbled through the flat slowly stripping each other, losing contact for even a second had seemed like too much. John was surprised that they’d made it to a bed and hadn’t just given up and done it where they stood or on the floor.

John gently reached out his hand to stroke Sherlock’s face, but aborted the action in a burst of insecurity. What if Sherlock woke up and decided he didn’t want this? What if he decided that “married to his work” was more important than whatever he felt for John, or, as he was prone to when faced with strong emotions, panicked and shut John out entirely? John didn’t think he could bear it if Sherlock regretted this. It was the culmination of too much longing to just be tossed aside like yesterday’s garbage.

Sherlock made a small noise that John couldn’t help but find adorable, and stretched his arms above his head without opening his eyes. John could do this, he could face whatever this morning would bring. It would be fine. Sherlock blearily opened his eyes, and then looked almost startled to see John next to him.

“Hello.” He said his voice impossibly deeper with morning roughness. He gave John a small, tentative smile.

“Hi.” John replied, and smiled back.

“Is this alright?” Sherlock asked in a voice quieter and more vulnerable than John could ever remember hearing him. Realising it was up to him now, John mustered his courage and stroked his hand gently through Sherlock’s hair.

“It’s perfect.” he whispered, and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this isn't dead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee bit of angst, but I will then return you to your regularly scheduled fluff.

4.

_Sherlock is leaning over him and crying and shaking, and John doesn't know why. John wants nothing more than to reach up and comfort Sherlock, but no matter how hard he wills his arm to move, there’s just no response. John violently hates this. He hates that someone has hurt Sherlock in this way. He hates that Sherlock is sad and he doesn’t know why. He hates that he can’t hear a single one of the endless stream of words that he can see Sherlock’s lips forming above him. John wants so badly to get up and throttle whoever made Sherlock look so sad and shake like this. If only he had his gun. Later, he promises himself, later, but for now he is so so very tired_.

***

Sherlock awoke to the slightest sound. It was just a rustle of sheets and then a soft groan, but it jerked him to alertness. His back protested as he sat up from his awkward position slumped forward onto the hospital bed. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. John groaned again and then his eyes flickered open. “I thought,” Sherlock scrubbed his face with his hand “Jesus, John I thought...." he trailed off.  He was unable to finish the sentence, so he changed tacks "Don't do that ever again!" he demanded; petulance sneaking into his tone. Then, in a much quieter voice, he added "You scared me, John. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you."

He felt small and vulnerable, and so like a child that he just wanted to curl up with his head on John's chest so that John could pet his hair and remind him that everything was okay. But John was injured and the hospital bed was small so Sherlock restrained himself to pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Sherlock's feelings must have been written all over his face because John reached up a hand rest in his hair. "I'm sorry for scaring you" He said.

"No, don't apologise" Sherlock mumbled "I'm just glad you're alright."

"You look exhausted, how long have you been here?" John asked.

"You came in two days ago." Sherlock replied.

"And you haven't left all that time?" John said with a familiar note of exasperation "Go home, have a shower, get some rest, and for God's sake, eat something."

"I have eaten." Sherlock muttered, the petulance creeping back into his tone.

"Hospital food?" John asked, and Sherlock nodded his confirmation. "Go eat some real food then. I appreciate you being here for me, but I'm alright now, so go take care of yourself, okay."

Sherlock reluctantly stood. He shrugged on his coat as he headed for the door. "Your phone's on the table, you'll call me if you need anything?"

He turned to see John nod, and then slipped out the door. As he walked the way, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd forgotten to say something important. It wasn't until he was half way down the hall and waiting for the lift that it hit him.

“John!” Sherlock burst back into the room with a wild look in his eyes and ran up to the bed “I love you.”

Silence hung heavily in the room for several moments. John finally opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock cut him off before he could begin. “It’s just, I hadn’t said it and for two days, all I could think about was that I hadn’t said it and what if you didn’t know.” Sherlock stared at John panting lightly.

John smiled up at him “I know, of course I know.”

Sherlock smiled a small almost bashful smile “Good. That’s good.” he said and turned to leave.

John called Sherlock’s name as he got to the door and Sherlock turned “I love you too. “ he said, and Sherlock beamed at him before taking his leave with a spring in his step.


	5. Chapter 5

John awoke with Sherlock curled around him. Sherlock was clearly discomforted by John's incident. Since John returned from the hospital, Sherlock clung to him at night: wrapping himself tightly around John's body and holding him tightly as if he was afraid John would vanish if he left go. It was on a morning like this, John woke with Sherlock's arms twined around his chest, Sherlock's legs knotted between his, and his face pressed into Sherlock's neck with Sherlock's chin resting possessively on his head, that John came to his decision. He knew it wouldn't change anything between them, not really, they both know that they're in it for the long-haul, but John thought Sherlock might appreciate the gesture. It might be that extra assurance he needs that John's not going anywhere. 

John gently extricated himself from Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock made a small noise of protest and snuffled a little reaching out to try to regain his cephalopod grip. 

"Go back to sleep, love." John said affectionately. He was still revelling in the now free usage of the word.   
Sherlock gave an indignant little huff, rolled over and fell back asleep. John gave him one last fond look before heading off to make his plans. 

But how to propose to a man like Sherlock Holmes? Frankly, John wasn't entirely certain that Sherlock even wanted to get married much less be proposed to. John supposed he could make it causal, just something over breakfast:  
"Here's you tea, love. Oh, and would you be interested in maybe doing me a favour and becoming my husband?"   
But as Sherlock had said at John's last wedding, John was a romantic and he wanted to make this meaningful. 

Embarrassingly, it took weeks of pondering for John to decide that simple was best and would likely mean the most to both of them.

It was easy enough to find a time with both of them in the lab in St. Bart's where they had first met and then to goad Molly into taking an early lunch break. 

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath "Sherlock, can I have a moment?" 

"Are you breaking up with me?" Sherlock blurted and then looked panicked as if he hadn't meant to say it aloud. 

"What? No!" John choked "God, no. Why would you think that?"  
Sherlock fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt and refused to make eye contact "I've been clingy lately, I know I have, which you seemed okay with for awhile but recently you've seemed distant and introspective, and I can back off I can give you space, but please John-" 

"That's not it at all!" John interrupted, unable to listen to this any long "God, I've really made a mess of this, haven't"   
In an act of near-desperation, just wanting to sooth the panicked look on Sherlock's face, John reached into his pocket and placed the ring box on the table.   
Sherlock let out a soft "Oh." and stared at the box in wonderment before flipping it open with one shaking hand.   
Suddenly the nerves from moments ago returned and John looked down at his own hands and just started babbling 

"You see I'm not breaking up with you and I never want to break up with and what I mean by that is that I want to be with you forever, I mean if you'll have me, and the ring is just a token, of course, you don't have to wear it, and oh God I had a speech prepared and everything, but I've forgotten all of it now, of course I have, and there's one for me as well and I plan on wearing it, but you've never shown an interest in jewellery, and this is all presumptuous of me because you haven't even said yes, and I guess what I mean to say is: Sherlock, will you marry me?" 

And John took a deep breath and finally looked up to see Sherlock staring at him with wide red-rimmed eyes and a hand over his mouth, barely covering the look of awe.

And Sherlock smiled and said "Yes John, of course I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. It's half done so hopefully I'll be able to get it up soonish.


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock awoke feeling confused and disoriented. Without opening his eyes, he reached out to pull John closer to him as he always did when they had moved apart in the night. It took him several seconds of feeling around the bed to realise he was alone. He groggily opened his eyes feeling a pang of irritation at the fact that John wasn’t there. Seeing that he was in his childhood bedroom, it was immediately clear why. There was a soft knock on the door and his mum called gently through

“Wake up Sherlock, sweetheart, you don’t want to be late on your big day, and I know how long you take to get ready in the morning.”

Sherlock groaned and rolled out of bed. He eyed the cream coloured suit hanging in the corner of the room (it had been something he’d had suggested as a joke, and they both had laughed it off, but the idea had grown on him until he couldn’t imagine wearing anything else. Sleeping apart, however, had been John’s idea), and he shuffled off to the loo.  
Staring at himself in the mirror while fixing his hair, he contemplated making himself sick and getting it over with. If he didn’t, the nauseated feeling would linger with him for hours. He always felt this way when he was stressed; it was part of the reason he didn’t eat on cases - didn’t want to be distracted by his stomach in revolt.  
Sherlock moved past Mycroft who was heading downstairs, fully dressed.

“You never were a morning person.” He said with a hint of affection that Sherlock found further nauseating.

“Mornings are for people like you and John. The rest of us reasonable people prefer to wake up at normal hour.” He grumbled (although he had been slowly chipping away at John, eroding stubborn military habits and getting him too sleep later into the morning on days when there weren’t cases)

Mycroft chuckled “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever described you as reasonable in anything, Sherlock. I do hope Doctor Watson know what he’s getting himself into.”

“Of course he does” Sherlock replied, suddenly serious “He’s the one who asked. It always had to be him.”

Mycroft gave him such a warm smile that Sherlock felt about six again: standing here in his parents house looking for his older brother’s approval. “Quite right.” Mycroft said, and headed downstairs.

***

Sherlock was surprised at how nervous he was before his own wedding. It was ridiculous and illogical, there was no reason to be nervous. He wanted this, John wanted this, everything would be fine, and even if things didn't go according to plan, he would end the day married to John Watson, and really, that was the only thing that mattered. Still, he hesitated at the doors to the church. They had agreed to meet at the alter, none of that 'here comes the bride' nonsense, and he wasn't late, per say, but if he didn't move soon he would be. Sherlock jumped when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Nervous?" his father asked.

Sherlock nodded and then said "It isn't rational though".

His father chuckled "You're getting married, son. It's not supposed to be rational".

Sherlock gave him a weak smile "That's not exactly reassuring"

His father clapped him on the arm once more "I'm proud of you, Sherlock. Now go get married."

Sherlock took a deep breath, and stepped through the doors.

***

He found John lying in their bed, fast asleep, clearly exhausted from the day's proceedings. Sherlock felt it to. He briefly considered waking John, after all it is their wedding night, and John wouldn't mind once Sherlock whispered his plans for him into his ear. But Sherlock decided to let John sleep, and removed John's shoes, careful not to jostle him too much. He striped himself down to his pants, John's suit would be a wrinkled mess tomorrow, but that didn't mean his had to be. And after staring a long moment at his husband (husband!), he settled into bed and curled around John. Exactly where he should be.


End file.
